


Worn Brittle

by heartofstanding



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Quest, after Azanulbizar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving on from Dunland, the dwarves come to Tharbad. They are exiles again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worn Brittle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bending_sickle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bending_sickle/gifts).



Tharbad is a strange city, though perhaps she should call it a town or village. The ruins stretch out over the flat and marshy lands for miles, but there are so few people left. They stare at the sight of dwarves, and Dís feels uneasy as she stands behind Thráin while he pays the rent on the forge.

'We won't stay long, not with this miserable lot,' Dwalin mutters. The forge is derelict, half-forgotten, and the man who owns it looks at them in bewilderment. The price is too cheap, even considering the state of what's being rented.

'We just need to earn enough to get us to Bree,' Thorin says, his voice a low, quiet murmur.

'They look like they've never seen a spade before, never mind a sword or an axe,' Dwalin grumbles. He falls silent when Thráin sends him a look over his shoulder.

+

She shares a room with Thorin, Dwalin and Balin in one of the ruined houses. There is no inn in Tharbad, not anymore. At least they are not paying for bed and board. She lies awake, staring up at the dark night seen through the broken ceiling. It has been long since she has shared a room with the men – the years spent in homeless wandering, crammed into whatever space they called their bed. The sound of their snores echo amongst these crumbling stones, the empty hearth.

She closes her eyes, pulls the blankets over her face and tries to will sleep. It does not work. This is place is too unfamiliar. She feels wide awake at the thought of it, the foreign stone beneath her back, the foreign sounds, the foreign lands this place is built on. Even the sky above her is strange, she who spent so many nights lying awake and wishing for stars can find nothing peaceful in them.

The night drags, like the creek that runs by this house, caught on sand and grit and rocks, too shallow to muster any speed. She cannot sleep and so gives up, sitting up and huddling against the rough walls. There is nothing to do but wait for the early morning grey, where she will begin the days' chores.

Thorin sighs on the mat he rests on, contorts his body in a new, tight circle.

'Thorin?' She keeps her voice quiet, not wanting to wake him – and the others – if he is truly sleeping.

'Dís.'

She makes the slow journey to his side, careful not to disturb the others and sits at his side. As soon as she is within reach, he holds out his hand to her and she takes it, curling beside him as she used to, when they lived in tents and worse, when they lived on the roads and in the wilds. From the time before Dunland, before Thrór's murder, before the War and it's victory that their hands are still too small to hold.

'Can't you sleep?'

She shakes her head, presses in tight around him. Once, she thought he had the power to vanquish the dark from the world, to keep her safe forever. Once, she thought she had the power to take his sadness and make it untrue. Those days are gone, lost amongst the stones they have tilled to come to this strange place, which they will leave for another unfamiliar place among the road in time.

In time. She breathes in, rests her hand on his arms, strong enough to build and defend and to till all the stones in the earth, but hold her still with gentleness that will be surely be lost in time. In time, he will become a stranger to her, weighed down by their losses, by the debts of vengeance Thrór and Thráin have bequeathed him.

In time, she will remember this night and wish it back just as surely as she wishes for the day to come and take them from this place.


End file.
